


Something At Work In My Soul

by Forgotten_Lighthouse_Of_Flowers



Series: Eyes of Silk and Paper [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alluding to Jonmartin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, But this is Jon we're talking about, Cane User Jonathan Sims, Corruption!Jon, Gen, It's going to be slow burn, Moth!Jon, Moths, Mottephobia, Pre-Season/Series 01, Still mild as ever, mentions of mythology, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Lighthouse_Of_Flowers/pseuds/Forgotten_Lighthouse_Of_Flowers
Summary: The line between host and colony blurred ever so slightly.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims
Series: Eyes of Silk and Paper [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685167
Comments: 57
Kudos: 255





	Something At Work In My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> MAG 162 really said Moth!Jon rights with that chrysalis monologue eh? And that conversation at the end really gave me the boost to power of through this.
> 
> (Title is once again a quote from 'Frankenstein')

Things were progressing. Maybe not at the pace Jon would have liked, but at least the progress was noteworthy enough. He justified that it was only his second week, he was still finding his footing and answers were never straightforward. Most days were filled with assigned work, no surprise there considering how the Institute thrived off it, but that meant he had to burn through it in order to go back to his personal projects or work overtime. It was an unideal shift in schedule, but he could adapt. 

The other researchers were a colourful cast to say the least. Mostly chipper and kind in a manner Jon wasn’t used to receiving. He was self aware enough to say that his own introduction had been particularly poor, which at this point had become a trend, but it seemed they didn’t hold that against him for now, even going as far as trying to remain sociable, which was fine. 

It was fine, and fine was good. Fine was average, not tilting in one way or the other, stagnant, manageable. 

And Jon could work with that. 

The particular case Jon had been tasked with was rather challenging. Factually it stood alone, having no hinted links or likenesses to other statements or the Entities. That being said the more time he dwelled on the concept, the more Jon realised he wasn’t all that familiar with the extensive list of them. Right now there were about five or six he could name thanks to some personal experience, and a couple more he could allude to the existence of. But the longer he thought about it, the more he wondered if that list was only a fraction of the bigger picture, and if that was why he was experiencing such a setback. There was also the fact that during his short time here, Jon had never actually heard mention of them from the other staff. Somebody besides Mr Bouchard must know, this was in all senses a temple to the Eye for gods sake, but he also didn’t want to out right assume. He’d have to follow it up with the other man at some point. 

Jon filed that thought away for later, getting back to the task on hand, in the statement the giver, one Mr Connor Whitemore, had spoken of a large hound like beast tracking the hiking group he was a part of during their trip up Snowdin. In a flippant comment the man had compared it to a very specific Black Dog myth that he'd read about. This was something that Jon was unfamiliar with, and it seemed the internet would be of no help, which meant he’d have to take the investigation down to the library. 

He rose from his desk and was startled when he heard the sound of Martin doing the same. It wouldn’t have been awkward if it wasn’t for the fact that they were the only ones in the room at the time as Tim and Sasha were away doing fieldwork. Jon could see Martin sneaking glances at him. 

“Where are you heading off to?” he asked.

“Library,” Jon responded. 

“Oh! Same here, this statement happens to be set in some Greek catacombs, they mentioned weird apparitions carrying candles. It’s rare that we get anything outside of the UK really, so it’s a nice change of pace. But I know very little about catacombs or Greek monsters besides the Minotaur, and I wasn’t able to find anything online, so I thought y’know, we might have something as a last resort and all that.” 

Jon gave a short hum in acknowledgement, it seemed mythology was neither of their fortes. 

“Do you mind if I tag along?” Martin added despite both of them already moving to leave the room together. 

“I suppose not.”

They fell into step, or at least attempted to, it was rather difficult to account for the fact that Jon’s smaller stature made him take two steps for everyone one of Martin’s longer strides, and that’s not mentioning the bad leg. 

As they walked Martin kept talking, all the way until they reached the library. It shifted from his lack of knowledge on the Greek mythos to his misadventures in a relative’s basement. Jon hadn’t completely drowned him out, but the words became a background hum of the more pleasant kind. 

People had called Jon out on this plenty of times, how easily he could lull out to the world around him. Others found it rude, but Martin didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he simply hadn’t noticed in his impromptu spiel. 

He only stopped once they finally made it to the library at which point Jon broke off with a small half wave to Martin. 

The Institute’s library was truly a sight to behold, no pun intended. A large sprawling room packed with shelves upon shelves containing books, documents and manuscripts that appealed to needs of both a mundane and niche nature. The mere concept of libraries was simply wonderful to him; ancient knowledge stored on pages and encased in leather like fossils in amber, ready for his viewing with a simple flick of the wrist. It gave the place a quiet and subdued sense of life that Jon always appreciated. Truly, if he were not busy at most times or worried about being the subject of Tim’s teasing about the ‘nerdiness’ of it, Jon would have quite happily spent most of his free time roaming the shelves, fingers grazing the spines of books just waiting for him to read. 

Alas he was here with a specific job and time frame, calming daydreams would have to wait. He’d have to come back later after he’d finished.

Which was easier said than done. Because it seemed no matter how much he combed through the records and wandered the shelves there wasn’t anything on the mythos he needed, which was absurd. Even without any knowledge on the specifics, Jon knew that mythology and the paranormal intersected each other in an intricate and complex way. And it would be completely against the point for them not to have anything on something as seemingly simple as whatever a Black Dog was. 

Jon was short on giving up when an idea popped into his mind. It was absurd but definitely not as risky as anything he’d done to get here in the first place. The library was fairly empty and there was no sign of Martin anymore so Jon could assume that the other was gone, and that it was safe enough. With his musings spilling like a wordless command, a moth answered by crawling out of the exit from behind the curtain of hair and down his arm onto his hand.

“Help me out,” he whispered and it responded by taking off and promptly disappearing behind the shelves to search. 

Jon couldn’t exactly see what the moth may have been viewing, but he knew where it was and when it would find anything helpful. It was more of a gut feeling that came with sharing a sliver of consciousness to fluctuating degrees. At points their thoughts felt very well like his own, but he had taught himself well enough to distinguish. 

They kept searching and finally after some time Jon felt a spike of excitement and gratification, a general “found it!” reaction. He followed it back to where the moth had perched on one of the books. Jon sighed again, it was a shelf he’d passed by, but the book itself was too high up for him to reach, typical. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for sacrificing his pride to a stepping stool or asking for help. A normal moth would be barely strong enough just to turn a page but luckily for him, eldritch fear moths were another story entirely. The one perched already took flight and began knocking itself against the book, inching it closer until it fell into Jon’s waiting hands. 

He thanked it warmly and began thumbing through the table of contents, skimming the pages for the right one. 

“Did you find what you needed?” 

“Gah!” 

The undignified yelp echoed through the room and Jon’s hand immediately clutched over his mouth.

“Oh darn- sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you- are you alright?” 

“Yes yes- ” 

“Are you- ”

“-yes god _I’m fine_ Martin please!” 

“Okay okay,” he stammered, raising his hands in defence. 

A beat passed between them when Martin’s eyes wandered to Jon’s left. 

“You’ve uh, you’ve got a moth on you.” 

Jon blinked. “What?”

“On your arm, here let me- ”

Jon didn’t have time to move or protest as Martin reached out towards his arm and cupped his hands around the moth that had settled there. He held his breath as Martin brought it closer and peaked through slightly open fingers. His hands were unbelievably soft.

“What a lovely little thing, I wonder how it got in here, best take it outside,” Martin said and Jon found himself completely unable to respond, mind clouded with the foreign experience of being _held_. It wasn’t his physical body shielded by Martin’s palms, but he felt just it as deeply, like a hovering embrace. The line between host and colony blurred ever so slightly. 

The library had high rise windows, so Martin had opted to take the route to the break room, and Jon followed him silently, eyes wide and wary and book clutched against his chest. Whether or not Martin actually picked up on the oddity of this, he didn’t comment. 

The break room was blissfully empty save for one staff member leaving with a steaming mug. Jon hung back as Martin made quick work of maneuvering around the chairs to an already unlatched window. As he opened his hands to release the moth, in his head Jon told it to circle back around to the main entrance and stay out of sight, he’d pick it up after work. He also didn’t miss the cheery smile Martin gave as he waved the moth goodbye.

“Jon, are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asked, turning back and looking rather concerned.

“Hm? I mean yes I’m sure I’m fine, best be getting back to work now.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

Except that was easier said than done, because when they got back to their desks Jon could still feel the lingering warmth deep in his skin. It was fuzzy and distracting, and his gaze kept wandering back to Martin as the other got reabsorbed in his work, having later found the books he was looking for. 

Jon didn’t get much done that day. 

-

In the dark, he sat on his bed, knees drawn to his chest, and arms wrapped around them, mind swimming with thought. The moths were around him, keeping a comfortable distance wherein Jon could feel the air from their quiet wingbeats and not be overwhelmed. Occasionally they’d gently brush themselves against his skin or burrow into his hair, the sensation was light and soothing. Moments like this were infrequent at best, but it was nice. 

Except this time Jon couldn’t find himself enjoying it as much. His mind lingered heavily on what had occured in the library. The awkwardness and the foolish risk he’d taken and Martin and Martin’s hands as they cradled the moth, dear lord.

Said moth rested on his knuckles, tired after receiving a telling off, despite the fact that Jon could never stay angry at them. 

They had felt the touch of unfamiliar hands before sure, but had never been held so tenderly by a grasp that wanted simply to see them safe. And Jon felt it, the bond he shared as a host allowed him to experience that warmth as if he was the one Martin had held. And it felt, god how could he even begin to describe it. He couldn’t even put a finger on whether it felt bad or good, it just was and that frustrated him. 

And Martin, Martin as a whole seemed to suit that so well. All kind smiles, warm colours and the sweet tea he brought every day - the moths enjoyed it tremendously - and a presence that seemed to fill the room no matter how much he tried to shrink in on himself. 

Too kind and too close, Jon mused, and close was deadly. Close meant attachment and attachment meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant discovery and that was something Jon could not dare face yet. 

He made up his mind, and the moths hated the idea. 

“Don’t argue, we need to stay away,” he said, and then after a beat added, “it’s dangerous.” 

And that was fundamentally correct, no matter how much the colony protested, it was dangerous. It didn’t matter if Jon didn’t know for who exactly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Spare a kudos or a comment maybe?


End file.
